By Kathleen Bradford based upon characters created by E. F. Benson and expanded by Tom Holt.
Mr Georgie Pillson sat in Ye Olde Tea-House, on the High Street in the beautiful Sussex town of Tilling, with its proprietoress Mrs Godiva Plaistow. Ye Olde Tea-House served tea only on four afternoons a week; the rest of the time it was Diva’s home, called Wasters. The day was April 22, and Mr Georgie had noticed that Diva seemed on edge and near tears. He gently asked her if there was anything he could do to help her. Diva pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed away her unshed tears.
“There’s nothing you can do, Mr Georgie. You see, it’s the anniversary of my husband Henry’s death,” she said; “He died on a Thursday,” she added irrelevantly.
“My Dear,” said Georgie kindly. “Do you want to tell me about it? Would that help?”
With this small sympathetic inducement, Diva nodded and began to unburden herself. “We married in 1914, just before he enlisted in the Army. We’d courted for almost a year, so no unseemly haste in marrying, although the war added some urgency, and accounted for the banns not being read. We married in the registry office in Brighton, where we both lived, and had our marriage night here in Tilling at the George Inn.”
She paused and Georgie said nothing, but nodded sympathetically while his friend gathered her thoughts. He was thrilled to learn about Diva’s life before Tilling but hoped she would omit the details of her “marriage night”.
Diva continued, “We weren’t very young. I was twenty-five and he was almost thirty-three when we married. He was a clerk in an insurance firm. I liked to help in the family shop, though my mother didn’t approve. My grandfather was a butcher; I liked chatting with customers, you see.”
Georgie nodded; since Diva had opened her tea house just so she would have a steady flow of customers with whom to chat, her statement did not surprise him.
Diva continued, “Anyway, we met when he came in and asked for calf’s liver sliced thick, said the other butchers sliced it too thin and it dried out when he cooked it. A bachelor, living on his own, he liked doing his own cooking. I liked that and said so. That was how it all began.”
Georgie again nodded sympathetically and waited silently for Diva to continue. He did not want to interrupt the somewhat meandering flow of her story with questions or comments; his job to provide Diva with a sympathetic ear.
“After coming to the shop two times a week for several months, he asked me to a tea-social at his church. I went. We began keeping company on Sunday afternoons, along with his visits to the shop. Fortunately my grandparents liked him well enough. Mother thought him dull, though.
“One afternoon, just after war was declared, he said he was going to enlist in the Army, and he hoped I would do him the honour of becoming his wife. I agreed. You see, I thought he was too old and wouldn’t be called up. We married and he filled out his enlistment papers on the same day. We took a bus into Tilling and stayed at the George. He said we’d have a proper honeymoon after he returned from the field of battle, which I thought romantic. We returned late the next day to his little flat, where he cooked liver and onions for me.” Diva laughed a little, “Sweet of him. And he did cook well, just basic meat and vegetables. He bought his bread and cakes and puddings.
“Anyway, sooner than we expected he was called up. I had a few letters from him. He was with a Lieutenant Pollard at the Second Battle of Ypres. First time the Germans used gas, and it was gas that got him,” she paused and dabbed her eyes again.
“Because he was ‘in’ insurance, he left a policy that paid out a little nest egg for me. Right after victory was declared, I re-visited Tilling; the George and the Ypres Tower reminded me of Henry. I impulsively spent part of the nest egg on Wasters. I had our things moved from Brighton to Tilling and bought some new furnishings.”
“So that’s how you came to Tilling,” said Georgie neutrally. He felt sure that Diva had not shared her story with anyone before now, which made him feel excited by the “news” and honoured by her confidence in his discretion.
“Lucky for me that Henry knew insurance,” she paused, thinking of other war widows who were not so lucky. “Then the ‘flu’ took my grandparents and my mother, though I went back to Brighton and did my best to nurse them. There were so many sick. Some gilt-edge bonds came to me, so I have a small income, which is nice: nest eggs don’t last forever. Coming back to Tilling after the funeral really felt like coming home for me,” she trailed off.
“I was still in mourning and Elizabeth paid a visit, ‘to welcome you’ she said, pretending she wasn’t just being nosy. But being nosy myself, I understood. That’s how Elizabeth and I met. I’m muddling things up; I met Elizabeth after Henry was killed but before my family died.” With an abrupt change in the conversation, which was not unusual with Diva, she said, “I really must go and help Janet.”
“No,” replied Georgie firmly. “Janet can handle customers very well for now. Here’s my plan: we’ll walk to Mallards House and pick the choicest blooms in the garden. Then we’ll go to the Ypres Tower, and to the Gun Garden where you can lay the flowers at the foot of one of the cannons in honour of your husband’s memory.” Georgie then added, “If you like, we can go into the church and say a prayer for your Henry. Then we can come back here and I will buy you the best tea to be had in Tilling!”
Diva agreed to Mr Georgie’s plan and excused herself for a moment, “Must wash my face and get a clean handkerchief.” She also needed privacy in which to do some inelegant nose-blowing.
Georgie simply nodded yet again, mulling over Diva’s sad story while he waited. Fortunately, Diva lives for today; if she were of a more melancholy disposition she might be miserable, but she hasn’t the sort character that allows misery, he thought; and neither have I, thank goodness!
Georgie simply nodded yet again, mulling over Diva’s sad story while he waited. Fortunately, Diva lives for today; if she were of a more melancholy disposition she might be miserable, but she hasn’t the sort character that allows misery, he thought; and neither have I, thank goodness!
Thus the pair went to Mallards House, then to the Ypres Tower and the Gun Garden. Diva was hungry by then and suggested they skip the church.
“I do hope you don’t think it callous of me,” Diva said.
“No, of course not,” Mr Georgie assured her. “Actually in good taste. Mourning is one of those things that is public but private at the same time; oh, that didn’t make sense, but I’m sure you know what I mean: stiff upper lip.”
“We were married such a short time, is all. I didn’t get a chance to know Henry that well. Don’t usually miss him that much, just sorry I never got the chance. . . .” she trailed off. Then she said, “So kind of you, Mr Georgie.”
Then with another abrupt change of subject, she continued, “‘Stiff upper lip’ reminds me: this morning Major Benjy’s moustache was much smaller than usual. He said he had a little ‘slip-up’ with the scissors when he was trimming it last night.”
“No!” said Georgie.
“He and Elizabeth had dinner at the Wyse’s, so it was probably too much port and brandy that caused his slip-up. As usual.”
“Well, it will grow out.”
“And grow out quickly. Major Benjy may not have hair on top of his head but he certainly makes up for it around the nose and ears,” said Diva, who then remembered to whom she was speaking and hastened to cover her mistake: “Not everyone has hair and a beard that’s as nice and as well-groomed as yours is,” she said with a silent prayer that she not be struck by lightning.
The residents of Tilling knew that Mr Georgie wore a toupet and that he dyed his hair and beard a striking shade of auburn, but since it was general knowledge, it was never discussed in front of him and so he believed that only he and his barber in Hastings knew the secret (and perhaps Foljambe, who was Georgie’s maid and valet). Elizabeth Mapp-Flint maliciously had once approached the subject of men’s hair in front of all of Tilling society, no doubt intent upon embarrassing Georgie, but Georgie’s wife Lucia was present and simply mentioned how beautiful Elizabeth’s teeth were, which stopped Elizabeth in mid-sentence. Elizabeth was left wondering how Lucia knew that her beautiful teeth, of which she was so proud, were false.
Diva and Georgie arrived back at Ye Olde Tea-House for their special memorial tea—for whilst Diva went to get another clean handkerchief, Georgie had asked Janet to have liver and onions ready for their tea when they returned. Diva said to Georgie, “Most thoughtful of you. And thank you for cheering me up.”
“Not at all. That’s what friends are for,” he replied.
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather that not everyone find out about Henry,” continued Diva. “You’ll tell Lucia, of course, but I’m not looking for sympathy. I’ve never really talked about it before, and I don’t want to keep on talking about it, you see. I like getting on with life.”
“That’s the spirit!” replied Georgie, then with his own abrupt change of subject he asked, “Did you see the daring new dresses in Vogue? So short! What do you think of them?” And so conversation thrives in Tilling.
Georgie’s and Diva’s walk through Tilling had been observed by Elizabeth Mapp-Flint, who was trying to re-negotiate her agreement with greengrocer Harold Twistevant in order to get more money for her garden produce. Just before she stepped into the shop, she saw Diva’s purple skirt and matching jacket, decorated with chintz roses, going down the High Street with Georgie’s fawn-coloured trousers. The pair went into Ye Olde Tea-House. Tilling’s morning shopping hour was well over with, and it was almost time for tea.
What can those two be doing, wandering around town at this time of day? Elizabeth wondered. They appear to be thick-as-thieves. With her natural curiosity nagging her, she decided to stop for tea at Diva’s. Fortunately for Mr Twistevant, this cut short the argument over supply and demand; Elizabeth was so intent upon learning what Georgie and Diva were doing together that it distracted her from her planned arguments. So with nothing gained, but with a determined intent to attack Twistevant again later, Elizabeth hurried to Ye Olde Tea-House.
Diva and Mr Georgie were seated at a table together.
“How-de-do, Diva dear, Mr Georgie,” she said with her sweetest smile. “A little tête-à-tête?” asked Elizabeth as she stood next to their table. She observed that they were eating liver and onions, which was well beyond the usual menu at Ye Olde Tea-House. “Liver and onions! How nice!” She smiled even wider. Elizabeth believed that her smiles lulled people into confiding in her, and that might be true of a stranger; however, anyone who knew Elizabeth knew that it was a hungry hyena smile on her face and that it boded no good.
Mr Georgie stood. “Do sit down, Mrs Mapp-Flint,” said he, even though they were at a table which was only big enough for two. “Janet was good enough to surprise us with something beyond the Tea-House’s usual offerings.” Elizabeth ignored the smallness of the table and sat, pulling a chair over from another table.
“What will you have?” asked Georgie, who realized he would probably end up paying for Elizabeth’s tea but was too dutiful a host to refuse her.
“Just a cup of tea for me, thank you,” she replied. “Any news?” Since the only news was of Major Benjy’s mishap whilst trimming the moustache, and since Elizabeth was married to Major Benjy and, therefore, already knew about the errant trimming, the answer was negative.
Diva’s Janet handed her another teacup, and Diva poured. The tea in the pot, by this time, was tepid in temperature and tannic in flavour. Diva had resolved that she would not ask for a fresh pot. Serves Elizabeth right for nosing in like this, she thought. Diva asked, “What brings you to town this time of day?”
Although it was far too early in the year, Elizabeth lied, “Just checking to see if the material for my summer frock had come in yet.” Elizabeth thought that her financial arrangements regarding the disposal of her garden produce was no one’s business but her own. Unfortunately the mention of summer dresses always had the effect of stifling conversation: the ladies of Tilling never revealed what type of material they had ordered so that no one could steal their idea, and since Elizabeth was usually the one who did the stealing, there was no safe ground for discussion. The summer frocks provided several weeks of speculation and occasional under-handed behaviour for some of the ladies of Tilling, but summer frock season was still more than a month away.
In response to Elizabeth’s obvious lie, Georgie said innocently, “Oh. I thought I saw you coming of out Twistevant’s as we were coming in here, not the draper’s.”
“I stopped by the greengrocer’s after going to Heyne’s,” said Elizabeth pointedly. “And what have you been doing?” she asked in a rather mean tone of voice: her sweetness evaporated under the light of the truth which Mr Georgie had shone upon her, or perhaps the tannin had brought out the natural acidity of her character.
Elizabeth’s tone nettled Diva. “Today is the anniversary of my Henry’s death, and Mr Georgie was kind enough to let me pick some flowers from the garden at Mallards House and to escort me as I lay them at the base of one of the cannons in the Gun Garden. In memory of Henry. Then we came back here for a proper tea.” Diva suddenly felt argumentative herself: “That is all, Elizabeth, and I ask you to not use that nasty tone of voice. My grief and Mr Georgie’s kindness don’t warrant such an accusation.”
Elizabeth huffed and said, “I did not accuse anyone of anything—!”
Diva interrupted, “No, but your tone of voice did!” Diva was standing her ground.
Elizabeth huffed again and exclaimed, “If this is the way in which you treat customers—!”
“Does that mean you’re actually going to pay for your own tea this time?” countered Diva.
Elizabeth, her lips white with fury, rose and left the Tea-House.
Georgie, who had watched this exchange excitedly (and with his mouth open), drew in a breath.
“It’s okay, Mr Georgie. Every so often I have to give Elizabeth what-for. Otherwise she’ll walk all over me. I just don’t usually argue in public.” Diva was elated: she usually did not win when jousting with Elizabeth.
“Well, I think it was very brave of you,” said Georgie.
“It was her foul tone of voice I couldn’t stand. Especially after you’ve been so kind to me.”
Diva and Georgie finished their tea, for which Diva refused any remuneration. “You’d better tell Lucia what we did today, just in case Elizabeth continues to be nasty about it,” Diva told Georgie as he left.
And upon his return to Mallards House, that is exactly what Georgie did. When he entered the garden-room and greeted his wife, she asked, “Any news?” and Georgie was delighted to tell her.
“Diva was quite confrontational with Elizabeth, which made Elizabeth furious,” he said.
Lucia was angry over Elizabeth's innuendos and rudeness, but she merely said, “I will probably have to invite the Mapp-Flints to tea-and-Bridge at Diva’s, just to smooth things over, next week. I remember how enraged Elizabeth was when we returned from being lost at sea and she found Major Benjy had moved into her house. I can see the look of fury even now!”
Lucia recalled that there was a meeting of the Parish Council tonight, which she would attend as councillor. A word in the Padre’s ear should suggest a suitable sermon for Sunday; there was plenty in the Bible and the Book of Common Prayer against spreading foul lies, and, after all, Lucia was an excellent donor to the Church, as Norman churches were always in need of expensive maintenance. Elizabeth’s thinly-veiled, vulgar accusations were too much, especially when they were aimed at Lucia's own dear, innocent Georgie.
“I just didn’t want Elizabeth’s intolerable innuendos to reach your ears without you knowing about it. I owe us all that,” said Georgie.
“Why, Georgie! I could never think anything reprehensible of you and Diva,” said Lucia, “And I hardly care what Elizabeth Mapp-Flint thinks.”
“No, of course not,” said Georgie, although he knew just the opposite to be true. He realized that Elizabeth’s fury was getting too much attention and sought to return the spotlight to its proper place. “And isn’t Diva’s story too sad for words?”
Lucia agreed.
The next morning during shopping hour, Elizabeth, still furious with Diva, began trying to turn Diva’s tea with Mr Georgie into something it was not, just as Diva expected she would. “Imagine my surprise to find them having tea, alone, together,” she said to Mrs Susan Wyse. Elizabeth had leaned in the window of the Rolls Royce from which the Wyses did their morning shopping.
Mrs Wyse, who knew Diva and Georgie quite well, said, “Why surprised? Tea with Diva and Mr Georgie is always a delight.”
Elizabeth pushed her misrepresentation further. “But alone. Together. It seems almost indecent!” Elizabeth had tried out these incendiary phrases on Major Benjy at breakfast. Major Benjy had appreciated Elizabeth’s base insinuations and had made a few vulgar remarks of his own. But Mr and Mrs Wyse were not of the same ilk as Major Benjamin Mapp-Flint, known to his regiment as “Sporting Benjy.”
Mr Algernon Wyse, who was in the back seat of the Rolls Royce with his wife, put his monocle up to his eye and as if to examine Elizabeth. He was about to tell Drake to “Drive on,” as this was not a conversation for decent people, much less a Wyse of Whitchurch and his wife, an M.B.E. Before he could give the command, the M.B.E. scolded Elizabeth, “How can you think such a thing! Never, never would either of them do that.” She added a stinger of her own: “You’ve been living with Major Benjy and his Pride of Poona much too long! For shame, Elizabeth!” With that Mrs Wyse put up the window whilst her husband gave the order to drive on.
“Well done, Susan!” said Mr Wyse.
“’Indecent!?’” said Mrs Wyse, who was still indignant. “Never!” she repeated. And that was an end to the subject as far as the Wyses were concerned.
Having failed dismally with the Wyses, Elizabeth next approached Evie Bartlett, the wife of Tilling’s vicar. In response to Evie’s, “Any news?” Elizabeth said, “Something quite shocking. I don’t know if I should tell you about it, since you’re the vicar’s wife.”
“Oh, I’ve heard everything, Elizabeth; I’m not sequestered in a harem, after all,” said Evie.
Had Elizabeth a better imagination, the idea of Evie in a harem would have given her pause and, possibly, brought the Pride of Poona to mind. Intent upon smearing her friends’ characters, Elizabeth ignored the questionable mention of a harem and unfolded her tale of Diva and Mr Georgie having tea together, but before she got to say “indecent”, Evie cut her off.
“I know all about that. There’s nothing wrong about it. It was the anniversary of Diva’s husband’s death. I think it was quite kind of Mr Georgie to take the time to listen to her.”
“But alone! Together!” Elizabeth was desperate.
“Not alone: they were in the Tea-House, and Janet and several customers were present. And not alone walking through town, either, plenty of other pedestrians about,” said Evie reasonably, as she thought, I must remind Kenneth to preach about the evils gossip, the leaven of malice, this Sunday. Fortunately, the leaven in Elizabeth’s malice was not working.
At this moment the two ladies were joined by the Padre himself, and Elizabeth, who could never speak of such things to a man of the cloth, excused herself. She knew she would come off looking poorly when Evie relayed her comments to the Padre.
Elizabeth next encountered Quaint Irene Coles, who had set up her easel in front of a shop. Irene was the person Elizabeth least wanted to run into on that April morning, but Irene and her easel had been hidden by a delivery truck: avoiding Quaint Irene was thus out of the question.
“What’s up, Mapp!” Irene greeted Elizabeth.
“Nothing decent that I can tell you, Quaint One,” Elizabeth responded.
“No? Not spreading venomous lies about Diva and Georgie?” countered Irene with the frankness that always upset Elizabeth. “Tell me about their tête-à-tête, Mapp! And don’t leave out any of your innuendos!” Irene urged with a leer. Irene had already met Diva, then Mr Georgie, and then the Wyses, and so she knew exactly what sort of toxin Elizabeth was spreading.
Elizabeth could think of no response. And so, with Irene getting in the last word, as usual, Elizabeth let the subject die. As she walked slowly back to Grebe, her home on the marshes outside of Tilling, she found poor consolation: At least I deflected attention from my Benjy-boy’s mishap with his moustache!
THE END
Text Copyright 2012 Kathleen Bradford
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